The Language of Love
by Dark Rose of Heaven
Summary: Kel learns the language of love from an unexpected place. A series of one-shots exploring a Kel/Qasim relationship.
1. Precious

I saw this pairing mentioned somewhere, and immediately latched on! It's too adorable :). I hope you enjoy the series, please review and tell me what you think!

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><p><strong>Precious<strong>

Her whole body hurt. Lying there, damp with her own sweat, sore in places she'd never thought of before, Kel decided that childbirth was a lot like jousting. Except, at the end, there was a far greater reward than simply trouncing your opponent. Staring down at the tiny bundle pressed against her breast, Kel tried to wrap her head around the idea that _she_ had produced this human being. A little red face, wrinkled and perfect, was topped with a shocking thatch of black hair. Neal had pronounced great surprise at the amount of hair the baby had, but Kel wasn't really paying attention. She was too captivated by the miracle she had just taken part in.

Outside the door, she heard the muffled words _a healthy daughter_, punctuated with a crash as the door flew open. Glancing up reproachfully, she arched an eyebrow. "She's sleeping, Qasim. You couldn't be a little quieter?"

Her husband's expressive face showed nothing but remorse. "Forgive me. I was… overcome."

Hiding a smile, Kel held out a hand. He crossed the room in two strides and took it, kneeling beside the bed to get a closer look. A handful of sparrows fluttered in behind him, taking places on his shoulders and the thick coverlet. "She's beautiful," he breathed, taking in the patch of fluff, the button nose, the long, dark lashes resting against her mottled cheeks.

"So ugly she's adorable," Kel murmured, and laughed at his outrage. "You'd be ugly too if you just squeezed through a hole less than half your size," she reminded him, running her fingers down the arch of his nose. She sighed, feeling more lethargic than she ever had in her life, and struggled to stay awake as she asked, "What are we going to name her?"

Qasim's brows furrowed in thought as he stroked her hand absently. "Something Yamani?" he suggested.

It took all of her energy just to shake her head. "No. I… well, it's not a part of me anymore. Not as much as it used to be," she amended when he raised incredulous brows. She smiled tenderly. "Something Bazhir?"

He hesitated, and she knew she'd read him correctly. "I… had an idea."

"Yes?" she prodded when he didn't continue.

He tickled Nari's breast with one finger, making her peep reprovingly. "Ghaliya. I thought of it as soon as I saw her." A brief smile lit his dark eyes as he explained, "It means 'precious.' I thought it was appropriate."

"Ghaliya." Kel spoke it aloud, feeling the weight and taste of it in her mouth. "Ghaliya. I like it." She looked down at the bundle yet again, impossibly tired and impossibly happy as she kissed her daughter's forehead for the first time. "You precious, precious thing."

Qasim squeezed her hand gently. "Sleep now, _habeebty_. You have done something truly incredible this night."

Yawning, Kel settled back into the pillows, too tired to protest when he scooped up little Ghaliya and pulled the covers to her chin. "It's still night?" The birth had seemed to last forever.

"One watch before dawn," came the answer, soft and muted as she fell deeper into sleep. She breathed in the smell of sandalwood and hot desert, and felt him brush a kiss to her forehead. "I love you."

She was too far gone to reply, but the smile that curled her lips as she fell asleep told Qasim she had heard every word. He watched her for a little while longer, hand on her face; then, taking the greatest care, he bore his firstborn out of the birthing room to meet her new family.

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><p><em>Habeebty<em>: beloved


	2. Token

This takes place a while before "Precious." Thanks loads to **BlueLion, mangagirl64**, and even **Honest to Pain** for reviewing ;). It means a lot to hear feedback, both good and bad. I'm not an expert on Arabian culture, so I kinda made it up as I went along. Hopefully I don't offend anyone in the process haha.

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><p><strong>Token<strong>

"You can open it now," he told her, lounging elegantly against the doorframe. "It requires some… explanation."

Bemused, Kel looked intently at the brown parcel in her hands. Whatever was inside was very light and flexible, almost like a fabric of some sort. But why would Qasim be giving her clothes for Midwinter? "All right," she said, going to the desk for a penknife. "You can sit down, if you like," she added, throwing a smile his way. She turned back to the twine knots, and missed the tender way he smiled in return.

"If you insist," he said quietly, moving to occupy the spare chair with all the grace of a desert lion. He sat smoothly, pulling a handful of cherries from his belt pouch as he did so. The three sparrows in her office flew to him immediately, peeping their thanks.

Meanwhile, ever conscious of his dark eyes on her, Kel slit the twine and carefully unwrapped the brown paper. What spilled out onto the desk took her breath away. It was russet-red and silky, but with the fine near-transparence of gauze or crepe. Interwoven with the deep crimson were curling strands of golden brown and a rich, bright blue that twisted and flared unexpectedly amidst the warmer colors. Spreading it out carefully, afraid of snagging it on her rough callouses, Kel saw that it was a long rectangle of fabric, fringed at both ends. Although large, it was too small to be a burnoose. The design was very intricate, almost knot-like in its formation, with the blue and brown forming each twist and loop as if they were dancing. The material itself shimmered in the lantern-light; whenever Kel moved, the pattern seemed to move in response.

"Qasim, it's… it's incredible," she breathed, stroking it gingerly. "But… what _is_ it?"

He laughed softly. "It is called a _keffiyeh _– a decorative veil. It can be worn by men or women, though women tend to wear it across the lower half of the face, while men use it as a turban." He stood, ever catlike, and took both ends carefully, letting it fall over her head. With practiced movements, he wove the ends together to that it rested on her hair and draped down to wrap around her shoulders. One end he lifted to rest across the bridge of her nose.

"I still don't understand," she murmured, watching him work. When one dark hand brushed her cheek inadvertently, she was surprised at the spiral of warmth that it produced.

His dark eyes met hers over the veil. "Among the Bazhir, the gift of a _keffiyeh_ can have several different meanings depending on the design. Between friends, it is an acknowledgement of compatibility and mutual understanding. A mother and father may give their child their first _keffiyeh_ as a sign of the child's nearness to adulthood, and their acceptance of the child in their tent as a full member of the tribe." He paused, fingers still poised lightly against the fabric. "Or, a man may bestow a _keffiyeh_ upon a woman he respects and… admires greatly."

Kel licked her suddenly dry lips, thankful for the concealing fabric across her face. He was standing very close, but somehow it was not enough; she wanted to be even closer, within the circle of him arms.

His hands lowered to cup her face. "You have such expressive eyes," he said, voice low and intimate. "Even your Yamani mask cannot hide it."

She blushed at that, but reached up to pull the _keffiyeh_ down regardless. "It is polite to show your emotions only in your eyes, if at all." When had her voice become a whisper? "Perhaps it is much the same with the Bazhir."

Qasim's lips turned up in a smile. "Not always." One fingertip traced the outline of her mouth, sending shivers down her spine. "You should smile more often. It suits you."

She smiled under his touch, and did not try to contain it. "Running a refugee fort can be stressful sometimes." Kel bit off her next words, looking away. "I'm sorry. I haven't given you a chance to explain what the pattern on my scarf is."

A wide grin creased his dark face, setting her heart to racing. "It is the pattern of a hopeful lover, unrequited but moving toward mutual affection." His thumbs traced her cheeks, and where he touched, she burned.

"But what if it's not unrequited anymore?" she wanted to know.

"Ah." One eyebrow arched. "Then you must wear it with that end tucked in, showing that you've acknowledged the giver's regard."

Her eyes gleamed above the veil. "Show me."


End file.
